the nights are getting shorter
by ckifi
Summary: When you wake up at—let's say, one in the afternoon—you've normally just overslept after staying up until three in the morning, studying for a chemistry test. You usually wake up in your own bed, too. I guess it's a little different when you've been asleep for three weeks.


**A/N** : I've wanted to write this one for a while now.

The narrative will switch between Chloe and Warren, first person.

 **au;** amnesia.

 **tw;** PTSD and assault.

* * *

chloe

* * *

I swing my head left and right. I'm scanning the waiting room with enough apprehension to suggest the presence of an oncoming predator, and scratch at the patch on my left wrist. The scab I'd gotten from the drunken fall out of bed from last week still hasn't stopped itching.

"It won't heal, either, if you keep picking at it like that," Max had said. I watched her stick a bandage against the wound. "Why don't we make a deal? I'll stop biting my nails if you stop picking at your scabs."

"Your nails are fine. Plus, it makes it all the easier for, you know." I waggled my eyebrows. "Bumping uglies."

"Gross." Max made a face and shook her head. "At least _pretend_ it's for a good cause. And besides, you know how much my mom likes to complain about my nails."

Complain she did. Years ago, my mom would wholeheartedly agree with Max's mom over afternoon coffee and toast—why, yes, she would say, glancing at the hand I'd rested against the table. Chloe would _love_ to assist Max in painting her nails as part of the newfound training process. I would be her guide, her mentor. Her Yoda. Harvest pretty straight boys with nails, she will.

"Abstinence," I would declare, and my mom would put her face in her hands and groan. My dad would chuckle.

I haven't been to a hospital in a while.

"Hi," I say. The receptionist looks up from her computer. She's young. Cute. Her scrubs are in deathly shades of bright green that I'd only ever find on elderly women gliding through antique stores. "How can I help you?"

Her teeth are really white. "I'm here to visit, uh. Warren. Warren Graham?"

Why did Max have to send me here _,_ of all places? Asking me to drop off his books while she goes off to meet her grandparents up in Portland. I haven't seen this guy in a week. Max hasn't seen him in a day.

Couldn't she ask, like. I dunno. Maybe Kate, or Brooke? Victoria? Or—

"Could I have your name, please?"

It's been three weeks, overall.

"Chloe Price."

"Visiting family or friend?"

"Friend, I guess."

Three weeks since we'd first found him.

The receptionist clicks her pen and scribbles something down. "You'll find him in room 411."

I have to take a shit. This better be worth it.

I knock.

"Come in."

I take a deep breath and swing open the door.

It's a weirdly picturesque view. Warren's seated on his bed with his back resting against the pillows. He has what looks like a textbook laid out on the mobile table hovering above his bedsheets, but it's hard to see when he's got so many gifts and bags piled on his bed. I'm kind of surprised to see just how alert he looks now, compared to the last time I'd seen him. Other than that…

"Dana?"

"Hey," Dana says. She greets me with a small smile and rises from her seat beside Warren's bed. She turns to him, draping her handbag over the crook of her elbow, and leans over to kiss him on the cheek. "I should get going. Call me whenever, okay?"

"Good luck with your drilling."

"Cheerleading! C'mon, Warren."

"I'm sorry! I forgot."

Dana shakes her head, laughing. "Love you."

I'm too busy ogling at the two of them to notice the nurse trying to get through the door. "Excuse me."

"Oh—sorry." I'm tempted to just stand at the line between the door and the rest of the room, but Dana follows after the nurse to exit, and suddenly the room seems really, really empty.

"Nice to see you again," Warren says. He grins. "You're the girl that was with Max. C—Claire? Am I right?"

"Chloe. But not bad." I shrug. Warren chuckles. "Sorry. It's been a weird week."

"Yeah, no kidding," I say. The cuts on his face look like they've healed a bit, but as the nurse in the corner adjusts the curtains, a momentary flash of afternoon sunlight throws Warren's bruises into even greater relief. I wince.

"So what brings you here on a, uh. A Thursday, right?" Warren asks.

I nod. Warren works a small fist pump and mouths a tiny _yes_ in victory.

Where to begin? I'm still tempted to watch him, just to make sure that he won't explode. It's a ridiculous notion, but the entire…this. The entire hospital. Everything. It's already starting to make me feel like I'll suddenly tip over. The smell of antiseptic fills my nose and brings a sour taste to my tongue. It's too sharp and too clean, like the dull surface of my dad's desk. After he died, I'd caught Max wiping it down way too many times, trying to keep the dust away.

There is one thing. I take the seat in front of Warren's bed, once occupied by his most recent guest.

"So. You and Dana, huh? Never would have guessed." I set the bag full of books down on the floor before the nurse immediately swoops in and sets it on the counter opposite Warren's bed.

Warren chokes halfway through his glass of water.

I jump—"Whoa, whoa,"—and reaches out to thump his back before hesitating. The nurse peers out from inside the bathroom and starts to shuffle, but Warren waves her away, shaking his head.

"You okay?" I ask. Jesus. "Sorry, I didn't want to hurt your spine or anything—"

"It's okay," Warren gasps. "I just—sorry—you thought—me and _Dana_ —"

"What? Oh, right. The whole cheerleader-nerd dynamic. Okay, look. And this isn't from personal experience or anything, but once you hit your peak, growth spurts and hormones will do you shit you can't even—"

"No!" Warren wheezes. While his breath is quickly recovering, I'm pretty sure his face is turning a shade pinker than before. "No. Dana's my cousin."

"Yeah, okay. That's cute. I'll bet Jennifer Lawrence is your long-lost sister too, huh? Who knows? Maybe Max could even be your girlfriend." My derisive snort immediately turns into a muted pang of panic.

 _Why couldn't you just keep your damn mouth shut?_

It's fine. He doesn't remember anything. Probably.

Warren opens his mouth in protest, but he closes it, and the faintest of twin pink splotches form on his cheeks. "Um…is she? I mean, I don't wanna pry, but I was wondering if you could tell me about her. Or you. Or maybe everyone, if that's okay."

"Haven't you asked any of the visitors before me?"

Warren looks down at his hands, bandaged and bruised. "Not really. I mean, I asked Dana, and there's no way I'd ask Max." He blushes. "Not about that. But Dana just gave me a really weird look and shrugged." He sighs and rubs his forehead in frustration. "It's been a week, but I still don't know much about anyone that came to visit that time."

He really has forgotten.

"Okay." I sigh and set my hands on my knees, leaning forward. "You don't have anything else to do today? No therapy or anything?"

Warren shakes his head. "No. At least, I don't think so."

"Good. This'll take a while."


End file.
